Traffic Light

Red.

A sedan sits still in traffic,

Engine still running, radio playing

The AC is on, but it doesn’t work very well.

The driver inches forward, though the light hasn’t changed.

A horn beeps, a man yells and the cars start moving forward.

Yellow, an engine roars.

Red.

A sedan sits still in traffic.

Weary on a long journey.

The hot, stale air and the sputtering of an old engine.

Waiting for progress.

Green.

A truck goes, then a van,

then a motorcycle, and then a sedan.

The sedan slows, onto the next set.

Pedestrians cross, like the ocean encompassing a shell with rising tides.

Green.

The ants keep coming.

Yellow.

No turns to be had

They stop.

The sedan floors it.

Red.

T-boned by a semi

Red.

Everything red.

A sedan sits still in traffic.

Red.

Engine still running, radio playing

Red.

The AC is on, but doesn’t work.

The driver inches out, clinging to useless life.

Red.

A horn beeps, a man yells and the cars start moving forward.

Red.

Red.

Black.

The Call

Beck Beck.

I hear the call.


The violent abyss of evergreen hills

The serene catacombs of teal mountains.

The song of Ulysses rings out,

And I hear the call.


White puffs prance by like cotton candy

As grim bodies encompass the stage.

The roar of Zeus rings out.

And I hear the call.


Like that famed creed of the USPS

Through dark, through storm,

Through sleet, through snow,

The call beckons me.


You release your anchor

I discharge my ballast

I surface carefully as you drift past the edge.

As Charybdis feeds, my tether is severed.


I seek the source

I search til the sirens shred.

But death in content,

Having heard the song.


Beck Beck.

I hear the call.


Come join my odyssey.

Unemployed

I love my job.

I hate my job.

The cool air,

Rushing through my hair.

The warm sun,

Taking all my cares.

The parents complaining

The migraines and screaming.

The constant sunburns,

The benign tumors appearing.

I must go back.

I must hold my tack.

The camp is dying,

I can’t allow that.

50 Hours of my soul a week.

A meager wage of 10 to me.

I know I have a choice,

But can’t bear to leave.

I know I’d be better off.

I know that I’ve had enough.

But there’s no one to replace me.

When I’m gone the camp will stop.

There since only a young lad.

8 years of age I was pretty bad.

I was never the best sailor even as boss,

But everyone left, for the same reasons I had.

But with my childhood, I can’t bear to part.

A little piece will die in my heart.

But I have to grow up, I can’t put off my life.

I’m sorry but my adult life must start.

“Dear boss, I’m resigning.

I have a great internship” (though I’m lying)

“Thank you for all you’ve done.

Good luck with replacement finding.”

Finally I break free.

Finally I can be me.

I can find a job I am qualified for.

I can be who I want to be.

“Dear Matt, your childhood is dead.”

At first I seethe, I can’t get this out of my head.

But then I accept it and move on.

“I can’t work there forever” is what I said.

I love not working there.

I hate that no one will ever work there again.

Breaking News

Breaking news:

New England lawmakers have just left a congregation in preparation for the coming presidency. New England has decided to secede from the Union. The senate has appointed Bernie Sanders as the first Consul of this new country. The Consul that will serve with Bernie is to be elected by the people the eve of Donald Trump's inauguration. We shall vote with a Ranked Choice voting system. All who want to stay in Trump's America may move to New York but they will be treated like Yankees fans if they return. There shall only be one legislative body, the senate, made up of four representatives from each county. The supreme court shall have 7 judges, who may serve terms of only 20 years each. The consuls shall each nominate a judge for appointment, and the legislative body shall vote to determine which judge should be appointed. If any branch of government intentionally refuses to fulfill its duties, there will be emergency elections called in which the entirety of that branch is replaced. Filibustering is strictly forbidden. Since the senate represents the wishes of the majority of people (ranked choice voting ensures the favorite candidate of most people wins) we entrust that they will not need to be filibustered. All candidates will be banned from accepting sums greater than $100 from any one group and any candidate with at least 1% of the vote shall be allowed on the stage for the first debate in all elections. This number will decrease to two candidates by the last debate. Our country has pledged in its constitution to be as green as possible, and has already tasked scientists to find better ways of filtering greenhouse gases out of the atmosphere, since we will be severely affected as a nation as sea levels rise. This is the end of this PSA. Go Pats.

America

I walk through the courtyard thinking of the $100 I want to spend.

I was gonna buy a plane ticket to see my dying grandmother.

“I can just take it from my winnings” I think, but then I realize:

that isn't how the economy works.

I buy, I spend & I get paid. I can’t just reallocate earned money and say I didn't pay a cent.

Especially  if I've offered more money than I can afford gambling that I can make a difference.

Presidential Candidates gain popularity by being racist,

There is a mass shooting every other week,

The same people that advocate for freedom of religion want to ban Muslims,

People can't afford to take time off from work to be with their family,

And I’m just another dumb millennial that will never pay off his debt.

Man, America is a fucked up place.

Defeat

Defeat

Defeat is not losing a soccer game.

Defeat is not getting a B instead of an A

Defeat is not just giving up.

Defeat is losing all hope

Defeat is putting everything you have into something and getting nowhere

Defeat is  waking up in a ditch with no money giving into the sweet poisons

Because you know you wont get anywhere from trying.

Why keep going? Why keep trying.

Defeat is looking at the wall ahead of you and saying its too high.

Who ami? Where did my principles go?

Hope is dead.

Give your soul to the sweet devil it is all over.

Accepting defeat is not accepting the inevitable

It is deciding lifes not worth the effort.

You are going to lose anyway, why not enjoy what you can.

Drink the sweet poison and lie back and let the world fade.

Heavy

It is getting hot.

Hot Hot Hot

Hands bleeding

My hands

My hands are bleeding

The sun is bright

But the wind is heavy

Pools of blood fill the sea

Burning. Evaporating. Drying.

Freezing. Melting. Dying.

Our hands are bleeding and the world is dead

The world is dead and my blood is boiling.

But that’s okay, my grandchildren can fix it.

Selfless

As I sit on a bench I drink my drink.

Beams of sun rain down on the cold stone pavement,

Warming the dry, frosty air.

Lighting the dense, empty streets.

I yawn, my self fails from lack of sleep.

It is my fault, I tried to write, but did not know what He meant.

Cutting that young, strong boy premature.

A true adult when the heart no longer beats.

Mom and Dad say grow up now,

Get a job to pay the bills and marry and give us grandkids.

Stop playing with dumb, old toys.

Think about your future.

I drink my drink and think how

I am a failure, intentionally, but through nothing i did

Or did not, as certain focus drowns out noise,

But sweet simple the music that plays

Inheritance

Inheritance

As the filthy baboons bicker,

Break your hockey stick,

And throw it in a wood chipper.

Trade in those snowboard tricks,

And learn to wakeboard instead.

Or skateboard if you’re an optimist.

First they deny the water has lead,

Then they say they can’t fix it.

When they finally try, everyone is dead.

The baboons say, “Kids will love this,”

“Summer vacation is now forever”

“Why would you take that from the kids?”

“Think of the money you will save in winter,”

“You will never have to burn oil again!”

Disgraceful. Begin to poison by conditioner.

The dreadful beams of warmth radiate my skin.

The disgusting taste of my fathers’ failures,

Fill me with fire, at their inaction and sin.

But the fire sinks down like a dying sailor,

There are no more trees left to burn.

So I trade in my car for a whaler.

From our parents, still few of us learn,

The hopeful cast away their faith,

We stuff the American dream for an urn

As the beautiful night turns to bay,

The city that never sleeps, sleep always.

La Felicità

Cos’è la felicità?

È una suona,

Rilassare i milioni chi ascoltano?

O solo una maschera,

Tenerci al sicuro,

Nascondere le delusioni brutte della vita.

La felicità non ha la moralità.

Gioia è indiscriminato.

I malvagi sono felice,

I poveri innocenti sono triste.

Justizia, dove sei?

Cos’è la felicità?

È una cosa vera,

Inspirare i milioni per seguire un sogno?

O è appena una bugia,

Tenerci al ignaro,

Nascondere le delusioni brutte della vita.

La felicità nasconde la brutalità.

Gioa ha causato

la vita per valere del dolore,

E l’ha dato l’intenzione.

Il scopo, eccoti.

La felicità non solo nasconde il mal,

Anche, lo combatte.

Ci sarebbe la malvagità sempre,

Ma anche sarebbe la felicità e la bontà,

Per fare i tristi felici e gli affamati alimentati.

Felicità è il più importante dei tutti.

E senza, non ci sarebbe nulla di buona del mondo.

 

La Stracciatella

Quando ti mordo vedo.

Gli aromi mescolano insieme perfettamente.

Gli ingredienti, cioccolato e vaniglia, con dolce melodia.

Quando ti mordo vedo.

Eppure, qualche volta, i pezzi sono troppo largo.

Il gusto non ha distribuito. È solo pezzi di cioccolato e mari di vaniglia.

Quando gli ingredienti fermano lavorare insieme, c’è solitamente la guerra.

Vogliano dominare la mia lingua, ma nemmeno vince, come manco il passato.

Quando ti mordo vedo.

Gli aromi non mescolano insieme.

Gli ingredienti, cioccolato e vaniglia, si litigano brutalmente.

Quando ti mordo vedo.

All the Seasons

Today we must write on the seasons class

Fall winter spring summer

Spring fall summer summer

Summer spring summer summer

Summer summer summer summer

Yes, today we must write a composition on the seasons:

Historically.

The Death Of A Prisoner

The Gradual, Unfortunate Death of a Prisoner

In the fizzing soda a morose droplet swells with stale air.

It jumps, determined to go over that glass barrier,

Then it solemnly descends back into its gas chamber.

Vapor

Vapor

I reach through the air:

No gentle hand grasps.

I fade away.

I shout for a friend:

Livid snipes tease back.

I hide away.

I write to make change:

My words are ignored.

My words erased.

I appeal the harsh sentence:

The execution has begun.

My friend erased.

I try to become better:

Over bridges I walk.

Several have collapsed.

I try to rebuild wreckage:

People are behind me.

Several have collapsed.

I try to be a leader:

I lead to progress.

Progress is poison.

I try to be a medic:

I give out antibiotics.

Progress still poison.

I look at what’s behind:

Death, Wreckage, and mistakes.

The world vapor.

I seize a few gasps:

Toxic air, no animals

The life vapor.

I reach through the air:

No gentle hand grasps.

I fade away.